


An Overdue Promise

by Abyssiniana



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ALLURANCE WITH A TON OF KIDS, Angst, Divorce, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fix-It, M/M, Mistakes, PTSD, Panic Attack, Post-Canon Fix-It, SHEITH - Freeform, allurance, angst with happy ending, season 8? don't know her, the love they deserve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-09-20 16:25:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17026095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abyssiniana/pseuds/Abyssiniana
Summary: Whatever that season was, this is a band-aid to make it better.«Shiro rubbed his eyes, palms pressing harshly against them until little dots appeared in his vision. Here he was, the brave soldier, a survivor, former Paladin of Voltron, current Captain of the IGF-Atlas and Admiral of the Galaxy Garrison, one of the legendary defenders who delivered the Universe of the dark dictatorship of the Galran Empire, and he was about to burst into tears in the middle of the fucking vacant aerodrome, in the middle of the night, because his best friend, who was worlds away, didn’t pick up his call. How absurd.»--as in, Shiro's a dumb fuck who makes bad decisions in his love life and needs an urgent reality check. The Paladins, minus Keith, take care of that.





	1. i.

**_i._ **

 

Pearly beads of sweat ran down Admiral Takashi Shirogane’s forehead, brows united in a frown that had been carved as a rather permanent adornment on his face as of lately. The accumulated levels of stress made him look older than he was, though that was somehow a normal assumption whenever people looked at his prematurely grey hair, the light stubble that began growing a bit beyond his personal taste disgusting him upon the black reflection of his laptop screen. He rubbed his eyes with a sigh, rolling back his shoulders and forcing a deep breath out of his lungs. 

 

It came out with the hint of a desperate scream, a guttural groan of sorts, because good God, was he on the verge of falling apart.

 

With the left sleeve of his shirt rolled up to his elbow and the hovering right limb glistening in the early afternoon glow, Shiro rummaged through layers and layers of folders and documents laid over his desk, looking for one particular piece, crucial for the intergalactic briefing he was about to head to.

 

He palmed at the desk, lifting a few sheets and peeking under a couple of folders, lifting his half-eaten meal and finding a stain of grease over another set of important documents.  _ Ah heck, where the hell was it? _

 

If he couldn’t find the damn report before the reunion, he might as well draw a paper cut across his throat and bleed out right in his office. It would save him the embarrassment of being gutted alive by the representatives of planet  _ Yiv’o _ , the hopefully next planet to join the Coalition put together by Voltron during the past years, for disrespecting their culture; rather, if he didn’t calm himself enough to grab the cursed folder, the opportunity to make them part of the movement would dissipate into the pool of blood that would gorge from his slit neck.

 

_ “Mr. Shirogane, Sir, the Yiv’o representatives have just arrived.” _ A voice that normally sounded soft came with daggers through the office intercom system. Veronica was an angel, she was, but it was one of those days when every little thing seemed to be out to attack him, starting with the hide and seek he was playing with an inanimate object such as a lousy folder, filled with the most important plans and notes about the aliens and their lifestyle and how they could find their place in the Coalition--

 

Ah. _ There. _ He reached for the beige case with a symmetrical, elegant logo of the Voltron “V”, and held it against his side, between his ribs and his upper arm, so that he could use his hands to quickly undo the top button of his suit to avoid choking himself. 

 

_ “Mr. Shirogane, a reminder that the meeting with the Yiv’o representatives begins in two minutes.” _

 

Yeah, yeah, he’d get to the female voice calling out for him; his secretary could allow him these few seconds to just… recompose himself, if he could just have a little while to let his feet touch the ground and his mind settle in a serene state.

 

He didn’t know whose idea it had been to set up a mirror in his office, but he was only half glad to have it there; on one hand, he’d be able to tidy himself up so he didn’t look as bad up as he felt, and on the other… He couldn’t hide from  _ himself _ just how fucked up he looked.

 

Fucking hell… Running his fingers through silver strands of hair, Shiro attempted to comb them. If only he could clear his mind, if only he could focus on the most important reunion of his life, then he could ticket out earlier and enjoy a prolonged weekend in the comfort of his house.

 

**_First there’s ice all around you and your chest swells with pride, you’re standing at the edge of the Solar System, and it’s everything you’ve ever wanted, you just want to crouch down and write your name on the surface of the moon, mark your place, where you’ve gone further than any man had gone before. But then a beam and weird noises, a hit to the head. It smells like burning rubber and some sort of disinfectant, your boot came off at some point but there’s no time to notice that. They guide you to a cell, you’re a prisoner of sorts, if only you could explain, if only they would hear you-- but they hit your face and you feel the blood running down your nose and then there’s silence for too long--_ **

 

Stuttering in his steps, balance almost lost as the carpet vanished from beneath him, Shiro sucked on his lower lip, forcing his eyes closed, steadying his breath and  _ you got this, you got this, do some grounding and you’ll be okay, Shiro, you’re fine… _

 

If the bloody therapist had taught him anything in the sessions he wasted there was how to feel like himself again. It was called “grounding” and it could work as some sort of game to reorient his mind back into the present, to leave the muddy field and the weight of the rifle on his hands, the canned soup that tasted like nothing short of ashes after months of eating the same thing,  **_they were taken and you had to find them but how could you, you couldn’t see shit in front of you; they gave you a weapon and told you to fight and so you did, you were thrown into a pit of creatures and the last one standing wins... freedom? You don’t know what, you don’t care, just want to find Matt and Sam and come back home, but there are just three more and yourself, and fuck, your arm--!_ **

 

Shiro’s flesh hand clasped onto the fake one, Altean tech smooth to the touch, the hovering silent even with the force he applied on the convex surface.  _ Okay, okay, calm down.  _

 

_ “Mr. Shirogane, Sir…?” _

 

From where Shiro stood, he had to spot five things he could see - a cup of green tea long gone cold, a potted plant that would be dead if it weren’t made of plastic, the pen he had lost hours ago when it rolled out of the desk, a staples he could use to kill himself if he got creative enough, no, scratch that, a pile of multicolored post-it notes, and the remnants of a half-eaten lunch.

 

_ Good. Good one, Shiro. Now, for four things you can touch. _

 

He tightened his grip on the folder, felt the edge of his faux-leather belt and the vinyl of his suit, curled a shaky fist around the fabric of his tight pants before shooting to grab onto a random book in the bookshelf. 

 

**_Flying is your life, you’re finally free with the burden of being part of the defenders of the Universe, you have them, your found family, and then you retrieve your Bayard, but after that you’re… lost? There’s water and night sky but it’s always night and time doesn’t pass or it passes by too quickly to notice and he calls out to you, “This is one is for you, Shiro”, why can’t you answer him, why can’t he hear you?!_ **

 

The screams in Shiro’s head gradually decrease into nearly mute white noise, the sounds of a battle he wasn’t meant to win vanishing into the fabric of his kind-of-faulty memory. There was a meeting to attend to, upon which the Coalition depended on, he had to go--

 

_ Hush. Three things you can hear. _

 

Accelerated heartbeat, the ringing of distant phones from just outside his office,  **_his fucking heartbeat--_ ** the rustling of his shirt on his pectorals as he inhaled and exhaled at an alarming rhythm, and just to top it off, Veronica kept attempting to reach him through the beeping intercommunicator by his desk  _ so loud, _ **_so loud--_ **

 

_ “Mr. Shirogane! Are you alright?” _

 

**_For the first time ever, and since you have some sort of  illimited still-time state to get used to in the astral plane, it occurs to you, “Takashi, how important am I to you?”, because you didn’t pay much of a mind to it back then and Keith needs you to listen right now and he’s more important than you’ve ever known. “Don’t do this to me again”, he says, and you don’t, you can’t, not to Keith, not to him--_ **

 

_ Two things to smell. _

 

Besides his own fear? Sweat. Cold food he had tried to consume without bothering to leave the office to warm up in the microwave at the common room.

 

**_Keith, I was dreaming._ **

 

_ One thing you can taste. _

 

**_Keith, you saved me._ **

 

Bad breath. Shards of a broken heart resting on his tongue. Panic. “ **_We saved each other.”_ **

 

The ring finger of his left hand felt dormant, empty, a slight tan after months of wearing the physical proof of a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep. Shiro gulped dryly, throat raspy, hands shaky--

 

**_If you love him so much why didn’t you tell him so? Why were you so quick to let him go when he fought so hard to have you by his side? Can you really fly the stars without him? What do solar systems and far away galaxies mean if Keith isn’t there with you--_ **

 

The door was slid open with Veronica’s overdrive of the locking system, the stumbling making her regret wearing those three and a half inches high heels. 

 

“Mr. Shirogane, is everything--!?”

 

“Yes, Veronica, I  _ fucking _ heard you!” Shiro was aware of the tone of his voice, the sharp decibels and the implications it brought when directed to a colleague. It made her stumble backwards, and Shiro walked past her without as much as an apology over his cold shoulder. “Let them know I’m on my way.”

 

He shook his head as he waited for the elevator, massaging the headache away from his temple. To no avail, of course, headaches pretty much resided in Shiro’s skull for so long they ought to pay rent.

When the elevator pinged its arrival, the doors opened for him. He was momentarily halted in his tracks, seeing who was already inside, but he entered the constricted space anyway, leaning his back against the wall.

 

“Takashi?” Shiro appreciated the fact that Curtis didn’t touch him. He didn’t know why he would refuse to be touched, but it was always soothing to know that he wouldn’t cross a boundary; and what boundary was this one, between married men, in which nothing really held them together? He pressed the upper floor button and the elevator began its slow ascension.

 

It didn’t use to be this hard to stand so close to his husband, to take in the worried look on his face, silenced by nothing but their mutual respect.

 

Curtis loved him, he reminded him often; not with words because words were never a thing between them. He smiled at Shiro in the morning and advised him to stop working when it was too late in the night to be thinking about briefings and updates on shipments for the Coalition or planning rescue missions on distant planets. Curtis knew when to bring Chinese takeaway for dinner, even if he’d arrive too late to have it warm, and when to bake him a mug cake, when to tell him things would be fine, when to lean in for a hug or a kiss, and, as right now, when to not touch him at all.

 

But Curtis couldn’t know how to be someone Shiro would love back. 

 

“I’m fine,” he promised before the question was asked, “just a little stressed with the meeting.”

 

He didn’t pay much attention to the words of encouragement that were said right after, but nodded through them, pretending to loosen up the tension on his shoulders. Did Curtis notice that he was faking relief? If he did, he didn’t mention it. Yet again, he never did.

 

“Good luck, babe. You’ll do great!”

 

“Thank you.” It was Shiro who leaned in for the quick kiss, even if he could anticipate the bitter flavor it would leave in his mouth; Curtis was a smoker and tasted like ashes, but Shiro wondered if it was exclusively because of the cigarettes. Either way, he used the taste to sort of punish himself in any way he could, licking at his lips once the contact was broken and they headed their opposite ways.

 

“See you at home.” Curtis added before disappearing on the corridor, documents held against his chest. He chuckled when he was out of sight, “If you survive that meeting!”

 

… Shiro never went home that night.


	2. ii.

Shiro rubbed his eyes, palms pressing harshly against them until little dots appeared in his vision. Here he was, the brave soldier, a survivor, former Paladin of Voltron, current Captain of the IGF-Atlas and Admiral of the Galaxy Garrison, one of the legendary defenders who delivered the Universe of the dark dictatorship of the Galran Empire, and he was about to burst into tears in the middle of the fucking vacant aerodrome, in the middle of the night, because his best friend, who was worlds away, didn’t pick up his call. How absurd.

 

**_What have you done...?_ **

 

He didn’t notice the voicemail was active and recorded his gross sobbing for the whole length of four seconds, but rubbed his nose to the back of his hand and pressed the red icon to shut down the call on his tablet. What was he expecting, really? Calling Keith in the middle of the night - though intergalactic timezones wasn’t a mental math he was up to calculating at the moment - would get him nowhere. It never did, really, no matter the time. Keith was unreachable because he  _ wanted _ to be. Who knows, maybe he was staring at his own device, seeing the intermittent notification light on the upper right corner and laughing at the incredible irony that after years of silence beyond polite acknowledgments and bureaucratic obligation, it was Shiro who called him first.

 

If not for the yearly reunions with the Paladins, he didn’t even see Keith anymore.

 

At least that time of the year was coming up, he supposed, checking his digital calendar to learn that in a week or so he’d be heading to Neo Altea, along with Pidge, Hunk and Keith. They’d meet Allura and Lance again and be formally introduced to the newborn Princess Luna. Which reminded him, he ought to buy something for their other three kids; how Lance and Allura could stand such permanent instability and disorder in their lives and constantly have another child in the oven, Shiro would never know, but they also knew how to be little rays of sunshine.

 

It still was weird to see Lance -  _ Lancey Lance, loverboy Lance, “pow pow pow” Lance _ \- as a father, but it actually fit him, as if he had been meant to be a parent all his life. He was kind and just, while also being playful and affectionate; he had grown patient, trustworthy, protective... Rather, he had always been like that, just maybe…

 

Shiro had kept his eyes closed for a little too long, hadn’t he?

 

But nonetheless the date was approaching, and in another selfish perspective, he realized he would be seeing Keith again. With a deep breath, he forced himself to find some temporary false solace in that, because Keith clearly wasn’t picking up on purpose and that meant he didn’t want to talk, see, or interact with Shiro at all. But as long as he could make sure Keith was okay, it would be fine. That was all he needed to know.

 

He didn’t go home, but he didn’t really have any other place to go to, either. It may have been in the whim of a bad decision, but his life was full of those so far, what was one more to weight on his emotional luggage?

 

As quickly as the printer in his office allowed him to, the Admiral prepared a document to declare his time off - “undetermined”, it read, but “until whenever I feel like coming back” was somewhere between the lines. Shiro was certain Iverson would pick that one up. He signed it and left it on his desk to be found by whoever came looking for him first.   
  
While it was only partially pitiful that he actually had sets of washed clothing stored in his office, just in case he spent the night in and needed a fresh change for the next day, it ended up coming in handy to fill up his gym bag. Bringing the black sleeveless shirt to his face, he sighed; the scent emanating from the clothes clung to his nose rather bitterly with the knowing fact that the used detergent had been selected by his husband.   
  
It was a discreet, yet fragrant floral perfume, something that should smell like home and tenderness and care, and while it held all the tenderness and care of being neatly folded, all the domesticity present the life of a couple, it was so far from carrying the feeling of _ family _ . It made him feel like he had a scream clogged up in his throat and he was choking on it rather than being allowed to let it be heard.   
  
In a moment of silent contemplation, he realized he ought to let Curtis know he’d be leaving.   
  
But what should he tell him, exactly?   
  
**_This isn’t working. It never really did. You asked me to marry you and I said yes because I loved you (did I really?), but I don’t think I really know what that means (I probably thought I could figure it out along the way but). Not with you._ ** **_  
_ **   
There was no way out of this faineant relationship without making him look like a total asshole, but that wasn’t far off the truth anyway. He shoved the clothes into his bag, tossed it over his shoulder and paced through vacant Garrison hallways towards the hangar. 

 

**_Never with you._ **

 

This wasn’t, like…  _ stealing _ , or anything. He kind of owned the damn pod, in a way. Though it did feel like he was doing something he probably shouldn’t (or at least not following the proper protocol to go about these situations), the adrenaline on his lower belly told him it was the right thing to do. It had been quite a while since he followed that adventure-seeking gut, so what the hell, he was going for it.

 

To curl his hand around the faux-leather clad control again was freeing in ways he couldn’t even explain.

 

The recently established quintessence powered wormholes highway made the trip to Neo Altea much shorter than it would normally be. In little less than five hours, the sharp rings of the planet were already visible in the frame of the cockpit glass. Halfway through, Shiro was glad to have found a pack of salted crackers on his duffel bag, his stomach was rumbling in a reminder that food consumption was vital; he tended to forget that quite often when no one reminded him. 

 

His phone blinked with a notification, one he had been ignoring for being too aware of the sender to care. But delaying would do his anxiety no good, so he grabbed the holodevice and inputted the lock pin code with the rehearsed ease of having the same one since his Garrison cadet days.

 

_ 0-4-0-3. _

 

_ They said you left in the middle of the night _ , the message from Curtis read. The one that followed was separated by mere minutes on the timestamp next to the text.  _ I wish you had talked to me about this. I’m sorry. _

 

**_Why are you apologizing--_ **

 

The cellphone was thrown to the back of the pod, uncaring if broken or cracked or ruined, because Shiro was all that too. He didn’t want to be, but “annoyed” was part of that list too, right at the top. How could Curtis be like this? Just so… passive and accepting of whatever Shiro would throw at him? Was there even any passion, any drive to their union?

 

**_What the fuck was I thinking?_ **

 

Shiro knew he was loved, Curtis did love him very dearly and proved it with little things, every day, but maybe that was why he had no intention to stop him, or ask him the reason behind Shiro’s sudden departure and where that left them and what it meant to their relationship. Maybe it was because he already knew the answer from the very beginning and as much as Shiro didn’t want to say it, Curtis didn’t want to listen to it either.

 

_ “A trophy husband,” _ Iverson had said that once to him under the influence of a few drinks,  _ “that’s all you’ll be to him.” _

 

The Admiral typed in a code to allow him through the atmosphere of Altea, announcing his arrival to the command of the hangar of the Palace; he had almost forgotten to, and was probably ticking all the alarms of a possible invasion, but if that were the case, the forces seemed to identify the ship without too much of a hassle. 

 

Or didn’t dare to tell him so. Whichever.

 

The landing was flawless and he was already grabbing his bag before completely setting the ship on the ground. The door slid open and he jumped out with both feet planted securely on the Altean equivalent of smooth asphalt, pacing towards the entrance.

 

A caramel skinned figure rested with his shoulder against the wall, faintly glimmering half moons decorating the high of his cheekbones - heck, Shiro would never get used to those; a mark not of Lance’s heritage, but of his eternal devotion to the love of his life.

 

Momentarily, Shiro considered the scar his soulless body had left on Keith’s right cheek.

 

**_Wittly put: “Quiznak.”_ **

 

“Ah, Lance. Hello.” He said, raising his Altean-tech robotic arm in a mock-salute.

 

“You’re early,” the Cuban man commented, thin eyebrow raising in a silent questioning, but barely undoing the frown on a face that barely ever scrunched up in such emotion. “Did you come alone? Where’s Keith?”

 

_ Where’s Keith? _ Well, Shiro only wished he knew.

 

“Uh, yes. Just me. I just thought I’d come by a little sooner than usual to catch up.” The air of Neo Altea was lighter than back on Earth, a bright, cleansing aura Shiro took the time to appreciate. When his eyes met Lance’s again, he felt compelled to tell the truth. “And… I was hoping...  _ he _ would be here.”

 

“Hm.”

 

The disappointment went both ways, though it was slightly clearer behind watery blue eyes. “I… take it he’s not, then?”

 

“No one’s here yet. Only you.”

 

Shiro dropped the bag to welcome the embrace Lance threw over his shoulders. They both closed their eyes and probably applied more force with their arms than necessary, chest on chest, faces hidden; after so long spent in conjoint life, it would be a lie if either of the Paladins was ever glad to be apart. If anything, it was only a momentary relief, immediately replaced by longing.

 

He missed Lance, and Pidge and Hunk. Allura and Coran too, the shrieking mice and Kaltenecker. Luckily it was something that could be solved with a conference call, or a quick visit and a hug.

 

_ But Shiro missed Keith on a different level; like some quintessence junkie, and the addiction stage had long moved on to utter dependence.  _

 

**Keith is not some chemical and you're fine. You're fine, you just... you just need to see him. Calm down.**

 

“Have you two been talking?” Shiro asked breaking the hug with two pats, only so that he would have something else to focus on than the deranged voice inside his head.

 

“Whenever he lets himself pick up the calls, yeah.” Lance turned with a gesture that was half inviting half dismissive, his bare feet tracing the hallways of the Castle with regal familiarity. Royalty suited him naturally, Shiro mused. “Last I checked he was on Earth, like, last quinte-month or so?”

 

**_Wait, what._ **

 

“Keith was home?” Shiro frowned at the realization. So that was where their relationship stood at; no hello, no goodbyes, no checking up at all. Keith knew that he was more than allowed to interrupt whatever meeting, whatever diplomatic event, whatever held Shiro up, even if only to say hi, so that hadn’t been the reason. To find out through Lance, of all people, that Keith had gone to Earth, stayed long enough to check in with everyone on the team except him, and then leaving without as much as a word?

 

Keith was  _ actively _ avoiding him. 

 

Every time that thought crossed Shiro’s mind, it came with a heavy rock rolling over his thorax, crushing his lungs and making him forget how to breathe. It was almost easier to pretend that things were actually okay and that he had done nothing wrong, but the mess under the rug was making him trip at every turn. There was only so much that could be avoided, and the urgency to address the matter and be rid of the plague that was a bad decision after another and on top of another.

 

**_Did Keith even feel the same? Did he also feel the distance that had settled between them? It was never there before and it took a little too long for Shiro to notice._ **

 

"Anyway, you're just in time to do me this huuuuuuuge favor,” Lance proceeded, and Shiro already smelled some babysitting. The Admiral merely smiled, opting by not saying how much he craved for a shower and a rest over playing tea party with a three year old girl. “Allura and I have a boring meeting to attend - y’know, royal stuff and all - Coran’s busy with the twins at the tailor’s, and Rhea really missed Uncle Shiro--"

 

“ _ Shiro?! _ ” The voice of an overly excited child was heard, a tap-tap of hurried footsteps finding them both in the bottom of the colossal staircase of the ballroom. The spitting image of what Shiro would imagine a younger Allura to look like, white hair caught in two pigtails flying behind her as she challenged the laws of gravity by taking a leap to his arms. “Uncle Shiro!”

 

“Rhea!” Oh my god, had she  **_grown_ ** . The firstborn child of the union between Allura and Lance, the little girl who was barely the size of his human hand, now all denim dresses, straw hat and fancy slippers. He picked her up with a swing and fake struggle, pretending she was much heavier than his Altean arm could handle. “Look at you, Princess, you’re all grown up!”

 

“Papa and I were playing salons! You come play with me now!” She demanded in all the inherited cuteness of irresistible bright blue eyes.

 

“I do think my hair needs some fixing, wouldn’t you think?” He questioned, eyes playfully crossing to focus on the white forelock.

 

“It’s your tips, they’re all broken! You have no care with them!” Shiro laughed with partial outrage at her gall, receiving a hug filled with a ton of whispered “I missed you’s” and “Dada never lets me touch his hair, that’s why I like playing with you more”.

 

“Tag, you’re it, Shiro.” Lance finger-gunned away with a wink. “Have fun, you two! I expect Shiro to leave your royal salon with a complete makeover!”

 

Shiro rolled his eyes at Lance, taking the girl’s hand and heading to the dorms. “Let me put my bag down and you can make me beautiful, Princess.”

 

* * *

 

Rhea had fallen asleep earlier than she probably meant to, with all the buzz and excitement. Coran would have to come and change her into her nightgown eventually, but for the time being, Shiro allowed her to rest on her bed, imaginary tea spilled from the plastic tea cups they had been playing with, his fingers tracing abstract massaging patterns on her Vitiligo spotted arm.

 

In the nauseating pink of her bedroom, the Admiral allowed himself to sink into thought.

 

_ Oh, how he dreaded it.  _ But he also needed it, he supposed. 

 

He evaluated his position; what had surged the rash decision of leaving everything behind for the sake of a few days in Neo Altea? Back home, he could feel a burnout, just shy of tearing him apart. So was this some sort of vacation? Hardly, with the thundery clouds above his head, threatening to spill a lightning bolt at any moment. Was he running from responsibility? Or from regret? It wasn’t work. It was just… everything. He was running, yes, but from what?

 

_ From his husb… Not anymore. From... him. _

 

He was combing Rhea’s hair, white, but his mind drifted to black. He wasn’t running from anything, but rather  _ towards _ something.

 

Someone he had forgotten without meaning to, someone who had always been there and only Shiro’s hypocrisy would have him searching for said person when they decided they had had enough. What was Shiro looking for?  _ Who was he looking for, and why wasn’t he here? _

 

All those questions had one common answer, but the insistence of that name was becoming maddening.

 

_ Sleep. That’s what he needed. _

 

With a goodnight kiss that would linger for no more than a second on Rhea’s forehead, Shiro walked himself out, the automated door sliding open and then closed, early night painting the sky in magical purples and heavy blues. The hallways all looked the same; however similar to the Castle of Lions, they didn’t obey the same logic of a main elevator connecting all floors (there were actually too many elevators), and Shiro may have gotten lost on the way to his assigned quarters in the Black Wing.

 

_ "I mean, he came all the way here. He knows you always come before everyone else, it has to mean something to you!” _

 

_ "I'm not going and that's final." _

 

Intentional or not, it was Keith’s voice that guided him to an intercom room. It had always had that type of power over Shiro and not even the slight digital interference would change that. He peeked into the division, seeing Lance with his palms on the control panel, exasperatedly looking up at a small holographic frame, where Keith’s face scrunched up at the insistence.

 

_ "What about us?! Everyone else who cares about you?!" _

 

_ "I'll visit some other time. I have to go, Lance. I’ll get back to you when it’s safe." _

 

The call was ended on the other side without a chance to transmit the groan and the throwing of whatever gadget Lance was using as a microphone against the touch-activated keyboard.

 

“Lance...?” Shiro knocked on the alabaster colored door frame before the Altean King had to find out in other way that he had been unintentionally eavesdropping, “Was that Keith?”

 

The question was unnecessary and he noticed that even Lance thought so with the shrug that followed. Shiro, of all people, would recognize Keith’s voice anywhere. “Yeah, t’was him alright.”

 

A sigh. “He’s... not coming?”

 

“... Not this year.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Who’s the ninth-largest and cutest moon in the Solar System? You are, Rhea, yes, you are!”_  
>  \- Shiro, at some point, probably.


End file.
